


My muse

by red_hummingbird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drawing, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Insecure John, Insecure Sherlock, M/M, No Smut, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-06 23:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_hummingbird/pseuds/red_hummingbird
Summary: John has always loved to draw. Unfortunately, it's been years since he last draw for pleasure.Now, he wants to start again and take on with his old hobby. John finds his personal muse in the most unexpected place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! Thanks for reading!! What do you think about it? Leave your opinion in the coments!!  
> It's my first fanfic ever written so don't go rough on me please hahaha  
> Also, English is not my first language so I apologize if there's errors or mistakes.

John has always loved to draw.

When he was a kid he used to bring some pieces of paper and a few coloured pencils to everywhere he went. He would sit wherever he could, even laying down on the concrete, to start his dedicated commitment with the noble art. Little John, could spend hours and hours with his tongue sticking out in the corner of his mouth, just drawing whatever his powerful infantile imagination would tell him to.

When he grew up, well, let's just say that his father was not exactly fond of the hobby of John. He said, not exactly in a calm tone, that drawing was a waste of time and his son stupid for dedicating to such ridiculous pastimes.

_All began when John tried to insinuate that “maybe, I could try and go to some classes of drawing, perhaps I could...”. That's as far as he could get before his father pulled him up from his shirt and threw his whisky breath while stating that “No son of mine is going to study drawing” he spit that last word, “how do you expect to pay de bills, boy? Or do you expect me to pay for all that shit?!” he was now grabbing with more strength the front part of the shirt. John mastered all the courage he could manage and began with a voice just above a whisper:_

_“I've already talk with the teacher, she said she could teach me for free if I helped her tidy the studio after classes...”_  
_“So that's what you wanna do?” Roared his father. “Clean somebody else's shit because they'll teach how to hold a fucking pencil?”_  
_He let go of John's shirt and the boy fell to the ground with a loud “thump”. “You need a real job!!” He punched John, directly to the jaw, causing a deep cut in the lip of the boy. “You need to man up! I'm tired of telling you so!” another punch, this time at the stomach, leaving John without breath._

  
***

John is standing out of the new art shop placed in the corner of the same street as the clinic where John works.  
He is looking trough the mirror to the art utensils of the shop: brushes and oil painting and canvases to the right, clay and 3D stick figures at the other, coloured pencils, sketchbooks, craft books, brush pens, watercolours, everything you could imagine related to art it was in there.

John, takes a moment, the words of his father repeating in his head, and he smiles to himself.  
He has forgotten his love for drawn art for years because of fear for a man who could no longer harm him. He could do this now.

  
***

When John returns to 221B Baker Street, he's carrying a brand new sketchbook. He wanted to keep things simple, slowly rediscovering his artsy side.

“Sherlock, look what I've got.” John says closing the door. For some reason he wants to share this thing with his flatmate. This small victory to his past.

“Sherlock, are you listening?” he feels disillusioned now, maybe it was not that big of a thing? Maybe Sherlock has already deduced it and it's such a mundane thing, so boring, that Sherlock has decided to completely ignore him? For some reason this one hurts a little more than the other times his flatmate has been inconsiderate with him.

He finds Sherlock sitting in his armchair. Eyes closed and finger tips touching lightly his lips. “Mindpalace” crosses John's mind, that's enough to make John's heart to stop aching.

He sits in his own chair in front of the consulting detective. He observes him for a little while, fondness invades his heart and a silly smile plays in his lips. He has a sudden urge to draw. He doubts, he shouldn't do it. He definitely shouldn't draw Sherlock, even less without him knowing it. This is a terrible idea and he won't do it.

But his fingers start itching and when he realises it, he has already opened the sketchbook. He sighs.

_Okay._

_Shit._

_At least do small things._

He starts drawing.


	2. Chapter 2

John manages to convince himself that he's only drawing Sherlock because he needs reference and his flatmate is the most available.

This excuse serves for that first day when John bought the sketchbook, but also for the numerous occasions after that one. There's something calming in drawing Sherlock, something even addicting, he can't help drawing again and again the man: in his mindpalace, doing some experiment, playing his violin. It seems every moment is the correct to save it in a drawing.   
One day, when John finishes one of his last pieces, a close up portrait of Sherlock, he sighs. I'm so screwed he thinks as he closes the sketchbook.

  
***

  
Of course Sherlock has noticed John has picked up drawing. And, sincerely, he's very happy for him. He knew about that old hobby and now that he's drawing again, John's even more charming... _no, not going there._

  
The thing is that John hasn't shown Sherlock not even one of his drawings, and Sherlock is curious. Very curious. The detective thinks it's because John believe the drawings are not good, just sketches, but how could anything made by the doctor not be good? _Stop_.

  
So one day, when John's at the clinic, Sherlock finds more than searches (under the pillow, _really John?_ ) the sketchbook.

  
 _I'm not invading his privacy, I'll just flick trough it, and then forget about it. I've done worse than this, and he will not even notice_.

So he sits in his armchair and opens the sketchbook, a feeling of expectation invading him. 


	3. Chapter 3

The first drawing it's a pair of hands, joined by the tips. It's just a rough sketch, and the line seems a little irregular, as if John was not completely sure about what he was doing.

He turns the page, now there's a single flock of dark curls standing in the centre of the page. Here, it's clear that John was practising hair.

By the third drawing, an eye staring back, Sherlock feels a spank of jealousy. It's an extremely detailed drawing and it's clear John is copying someone's eye. It's done with so much care. Every line in its perfect place, so much precision. There was just only one explanation and it makes Sherlock's heart ache. John has a new girlfriend. Maybe it was her who gave John the idea to start drawing again. Sherlock is about to close the sketchbook and forget about everything, specially about one doctor in particular who, apparently, can't stop thinking about.

But he forces himself to keep going through the sketchbook. Maybe if he sees the evidence of John being with someone, with a woman, he can get over these stupid feelings towards the doctor.

What he finds in the following pages leaves him confused. It's a series of human figures, just constructive lines, in different positions: crouching looking something at the floor, bending over something unidentified, holding something against his shoulder... The thing is every human figure seems like a male figure. Sherlock frowns. It doesn't make sense. If John is drawing his new girlfriend in all the other pages, why now he's drawing male figures?  
He turns the page once more.

And now Sherlock is left with his mouth hanging open.

It's his portrait.

And it's stunning.

Again, every detail is carefully placed with as much precision as the other ones. But there's something different about this one. It's Sherlock, that is obvious, and it reflects perfectly the severity of his features. The arrogance that Sherlock shows everyday it's present, but the eyes are just out of place. They look with just a hint of endearment, as if in the portrait Sherlock is hiding it for everybody but the viewer.

Sherlock's heart starts beating faster, and he traces the lines of his portrait with his fingertips, just a light touch, just to make sure it is really there and he's damned heart it's not imagining it.

_This is how he sees me._

  
Then, all Sherlock is able to do is start looking all the drawings again from the very first one. _It's impossible_ , says his own mind, but now he sees it. Every single drawing is of him: the joined hands are his when he is on his mindpalace, the flock of dark curls are his, the eye staring back is his fierce look when he is in Deduction Mode, and all the human figures are him: looking at a corpse in a crime scene, bending over his microscope, holding his violin ready to play...

  
Every single of John's drawings is him.

  
By the time that Sherlock arrives again to his own portrait he can't control the hard pounding of his heart, it seems like someone took all the air he had in his lungs.

  
_What does this mean?_

  
It can't mean what he desires to mean, what he desperately wants it to mean. Surely, there's a reason why John draw him that didn’t not involve any kind of sentiment. It is not possible.

  
But, just like a fool, his heart does not believe that part entirely. There’s a part of him that still hopes for it to be real. For the reason to be that John wanted to draw him, not just because for reference. He returns once more to his portrait. That look staring back at him. Sherlock places a hand at his chest, just over his racing heart.

  
Sherlock stares at the drawings again and again, analysing each one, scrutinizing every single detail of them. At the same trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. He turns the pages over and over again, by now, he knows by heart very detail of every drawing, but every time he arrives at the portrait his minds shuts down for a second, not finding any logical explanation.

  
He’s so immersed in the drawings that he doesn’t even hear the sound of keys and John returning home from work.

  
“Hey, Sherlock” John’s voice come from the door, “please tell me there’s no case on tonight” now he’s climbing up the stairs, but Sherlock doesn’t even notice, “I’m exhausted, how does some takeaway sound?” and, at last, John enters the living room. Sherlock snaps his head up and stares at John with impossible wide eyes. Like a kid caught doing something bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay, I'm a procastinating piece timeloser. But better late than never, right?  
> I hope you'll enjoy this new chapter and I promise not to let so much time between each chapter.  
> Again, I'm sorry.


	4. Chapter 4

It takes a little bit to John to process what is happening, “Umm… Sherlock?”, he’s never seen Sherlock like that, like he’s nervous for his actions, like he fears John’s reaction. That’s laughable, it sure is a mess in the kitchen caused by some failed experiment or something like that. He doesn’t want me to shout at him, for doing it AGAIN, that’s why that look. God I’m so tired for shouting, whatever it is it can wait till tomorrow or whenever. “Sherlock” John repeats, but the man doesn’t move one centimetre, still observing him with that nearly absurd look. I could draw him like that, that’s a funny pose. Honestly, I could draw every expression, every pose he takes, everything and still I wouldn’t be able to…

And the penny drops. The train of thought of John halts as his eyes land in the sketchbook between Sherlock hands. John stays stock still, trying to process the situation.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

As Sherlock reads in John’s expression the horror that the man is feeling he reacts at last. “Look, John, I- I…” But John isn’t listening, he can’t stop his racing mind. God, he found out. You are a creep, John Watson, and now Sherlock knows it. This is bad, this is very bad. Fuck, what must he be thinking? Who draws his flatmate without even them knowing? If there was a infinitesimal opportunity to have something with Sherlock, you just crushed it into nothingness. And now, of all times, his father’s words came clear as water to him. They resonate inside him, bringing him back to the little scared boy he once was.

John’s now able to hear Sherlock talking, but he just registers the man’s voice, no what he’s saying, why would he do that? Instead he hears his father talking inside his head. He’s probably rambling and looking for a nice way to ask you to stop. He wants you to leave him alone. I told you, Johnny, I told to man up, but you didn’t listen to me and now look what happened. He saw right trough you, all your ridiculous and absurd feelings for him, and he’s uncomfortable with your presence, with you.

He talks then, cutting Sherlock’s rambling: “Sherlock, I-I’m sorry.” His voice just above a whisper. “I perfectly understand that you’re mad and you want me to stop…”

Sherlock, still sitting in his chair “What?” he stands up and starts walking towards the apologizing John.

“And that’s fine, of course it’s fine, I- that’s – what I did was a bit not good” John lets out a sad chuckle for the chose of words. By now, Sherlock is standing in front of him, but John is looking everywhere but him. John wouldn’t stand seeing the rejection from Sherlock eyes.

“Why did you do it?” Sherlock whispers back. And although he doesn’t let himself believe entirely what he desperately wants, the fact that John is obviously nervous and blaming himself for something Sherlock doesn’t get entirely, lets a little bit of hope flame up in the detective chest.

“Why?” John sounds confused “Well, it sort of- sort of happened, I saw you there, and saw you again, and again, and again. And I tried, I swear I tried, but I couldn’t stop myself from drawing you. You are…” John trails off.

“I’m what, John?” Sherlock urges him to keep talking, he and his heart need answers.

John closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, he decides to look Sherlock in the eyes for this part, a thought that’s been in his mind whenever he was drawing Sherlock. “You are- you are my muse.” He finally declares, and he embraces himself for the reaction to come.

But there’s none.

And then, then he sees it. Sherlock’s eyes are looking at him like he draw them in the portrait.

And all of a sudden, Sherlock is standing so close to him.

And he’s drowning in those beautiful eyes.

And he swears he can almost hear the beating of Sherlock’s heart above the sound of his own heart.

“J-John” Sherlock seems to say something, but nothing comes out. He wants to, he wants to tell John everything he feels. But it’s okay, because John knows, John sees it in Sherlock eyes and asks a silent question.

He puts a hand against Sherlock’s cheek never braking eye contact, he couldn’t even if he wanted to.

Will I ever be able to take my eyes off of his?

Sherlock leans a little closer, merely imperceptible, still afraid, still not believing it, still thinking it is a dream. He masters all the courage he is able to and pulls so very lightly John towards him by the t-shirt.

And then.

Then all clicks in place.

John leans completely in, and reaches for Sherlock’s lips and seals them with his own. He lets out a little sigh of relief and is able to hear a soft humming that’s definitely not coming from him.

It’s just that, simple but sweet. Just a chaste kiss, but it’s the most incredible kiss John has experienced in his entire life. It’s charged with so much emotion, so much pining and feeling…

He can’t stop himself from bringing Sherlock even closer to himself and slides both of his hands between those dark curls making a mess out of them. Sherlock gasps surprised and John smiles to himself knowing that he’s one of the few people able to surprise the mad genius.

Sherlock puts his arms around John’s waist and holds him in place, and something says that it’s not just for the time, Sherlock means it forever. The kiss deepens.

And both man loose it right there and then.

A thousand emotions explode inside of them. Making things right. Both man know it then, it will be alright, not matter what, everything will be alright.

John brakes the kiss for a moment, “Oh… My Muse” he sighs.

“Shut up, you cheeky git” chuckles Sherlock, and leans again for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the grand finale. Hope you like it!!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the end of the fic but it keeps putting an "?" in the amount of chapters. And my clumsy ass can't figure out why. So if you have any idea why this happens please tell me so I can fix it.  
> Thanks a lot!!


End file.
